The Last Laugh, 1924

The Last Laugh, 1924, directed by F. W. Murnau, 4.5 stars

Murnau’s “The Last Laugh” is considered by many to be the very model of a major silent film, perhaps, the greatest ever made. It is certainly a superb example of a completely silent film, by which I mean, there are absolutely no intertitle dialogue cards.  In fact, there is only one intertitle in the entire film, which, because it announces the final act (or, more accurately, perhaps, the epilogue), is particularly jarring--not only because of its apparently self-conscious insertion, but also because of the ensuing, unlikely events it purports to explain away.

Emil Jannings stars as an elderly and over-sized hotel doorman who, unbeknownst to him, is seen by a manager taking a momentary, unscheduled break away from his post.  When he arrives at work the next day, he is surprised to see a younger and fitter individual manning the door.  Conducted into a manager's office, he is handed a letter informing him that he has been transferred to the hotel washroom, and he is then ordered to remove and return his doorman's uniform.  Stunned and humiliated by this seemingly inexplicable turn of events, he is literally unable to move, and a fellow hotelier must doff the uniform for him.  Unable to face his friends and family, he steals his uniform before leaving the hotel, wearing it proudly one last time at an all-night gala wedding reception in honor of his niece.  Of course, the ruse cannot last.  The next day he is found out, at which point his unrelenting downward spiral begins in earnest.

Murnau and his gifted cinematographer, Karl Freund, are able to capture the full range of emotions experienced by the doorman through the use of unusual angles, point-of-view shots (including hand-held camerawork), filters, lighting, and claustrophobic set design.  The camera glides effortlessly through doors and windows, up and down stairs, and through city streets and hotel corridors.  Like the doorman, most things in his world appear larger than life.  Characters glare, glower, gasp, gape, or grin.  Their gestures are grand and absolutely unambiguous; seldom does anyone move their lips to speak.  The exaggerated aspects of the film are absolutely appropriate.  They reflect (sometimes in mirrors) the overblown self-image of the main character, so pompously self-absorbed when clad in his hotel finery, and so woefully self-obsessed as he steadily descends into total despair.  This film is cinema at its purest, and the high quality of the preserved print contributes to making it a pure pleasure to watch as well.